


The Art of Dancing and Finer Things

by neonbees



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dancing, Jealousy, M/M, This is a 'Sylvix Fic' but really its an ignatz sylvain bromance fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonbees/pseuds/neonbees
Summary: Sylvain teaches Ignatz to dance.Felix pines, but only a little.Gift fic for Lisa in the Sylvix Server !
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ignatz Victor, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 2
Kudos: 95
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	The Art of Dancing and Finer Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa/gifts).



> For the prompts - Sylvix, Confessions, The Ball/Goddess Tower  
> and Ignatz. Lots of Ignatz. 
> 
> This was already posted on the discord, but I'm adding it here as well! The first of my holiday gift fics.

The mist settles like gossamer over the treetops, scattering the light like falling leaves. To capture it with his brush, to bring such a scene into his canvas, and share the beauty and create  _ more  _ of it through someone else’s joy- there is no better feeling to the blond. Carefully now, he dips his brush to the paint, bringing it across in a line of silver-

“Hey Ignatz,” Sylvain interrupts, “What are you up to?” Sylvain and Ignatz both watch as his startled hand strikes across the canvas.

“Well. I  _ was _ painting.”

“It’s looking good,” the compliment comes faster than Sylvain’s realization of what he’s done- he winces, “Ah, sorry about surprising you.”   
  
“It’s fine,” Ignatz sighs, staring morosely at the painting, “It does add to it… maybe?”   
  
“And isn’t it fun to know how the influence of others brings life to art? I think that’s one of the nice parts to it. And it really helps highlight the mist.” He can feel Sylvain lean over him, pointing out the parts just so- and Ignatz thinks he can see it the way Sylvain does, if he tilts his head a little.   
  
“You think so?”   
  
“I know so. It wouldn’t be out of place in a manor,” Sylvain speaks with such confidence that even Ignatz isn’t immune.

“Well, thank you, Sylvain,” Ignatz replies, before wondering why exatly Sylvain was approaching him in the first place. It couldn’t be about- He rushes to say his next few words, because the faster Ignatz can move on, the better. “Oh, and I just want to say that thing I asked you about earlier… please forget it.”   
  
“Oh no, Ignatz. I thought about it. And I can work you into my schedule.” Sylvain’s looming now. He knows it. Ignatz doesn’t dare turn around.   
  
“Oh no, Sylvain, really, I insist. It was a silly thing, I wouldn’t want to bother you.” If Ignatz just looks at the painting, maybe Sylvain would leave. Maybe Felix will walk by. He’d always been good at distracting Sylvain, wasn’t he?   
  
“You’re not a bother, Ignatz. I want to do this for you. How else would I thank you for all the beautiful paintings I get to see?”   
  
“By letting me pretend I never asked you such a thing.”   
  
“Ah, Ignatz. I’m going to teach you to dance.”

They settle for the courtyard in the morning before classes. Sylvain grumbles a little bit about the time, but it’s good-natured. At least, Ignatz hopes so. Sylvain speaks a little oddly, sometimes, but he’s actually pleasant to talk to about art, so Ignatz ignores his idiosyncrasies. Ignatz enjoys crushing beetles into paint. Sylvain’s honesty is never candid. Everyone’s got one. 

Still, dancing. He never expected to get this far- He had been chosen by their professor (oh goddess above, why him) to dance in the ball, and Sylvain was the one chosen for the Blue Lions. Initially, Ignatz had asked him for help out of the simple fear of failure. Of looking like a fool on the stage. Winning- well, that was a goal he didn’t quite dream of. He’d settle with passable first. 

“Alright, Ignatz. Ready for your first lesson?” Sylvain gives him a sweeping bow, graceful in that effortless way that nobility seem to have- he’s seen it in Lorenz, unfortunately, and he sees it now in Sylvain’s offered hand. He takes it, because, well, there’s not much choice. 

He had asked for this. No running now. 

Sylvain pulls him flush against his body, hand a solid heat on his waist.

He was wrong. Ignatz can run now. 

“Sylvain, I don’t think,” were people able to simply speak words? Ignatz isn’t sure he’s ever spoken in his life. Especially with. A hand. On his waist. People did this? For fun? “ Please don’t-Uhm-” 

“Okay, okay, relax, Ignatz. I don’t bite.” There’s a pause, and Ignatz can feel Sylvain restraining himself from saying something else. Oh goddess, he’s too close, but Sylvain just kept  _ speaking _ , “But I’m going to teach you to dance. It’s a little intimate, yeah, but it’s no different from learning the sword. It requires patience and  _ contact _ . It also requires you to be comfortable. If you’re tense, you’re not gonna learn.” 

Sylvain’s right, Ignatz knows. He also knows if he tries to speak now, he might say something embarrassing.

Then Sylvain steps back, but he rests his hand on Ignatz’s shoulder, so it’s not much better. “Think of it like this, Ignatz. Dancing is like… chiaroscuro: a balance between light and dark. Except, it’s a balance between the lead and the follow. Both are equally important- you cannot have one with the other. I’ll teach you both.” 

Sylvain’s promises are honey-golden as anything he says, but Ignatz can feel the strength in the words, and he trusts that. Sylvain’s a friend, and a good one. He lets himself lean into the words as Sylvain continues to speak, “But just warning you- three days does not a master make. Imagine having to paint a still life without ever having practiced- or from memory! You wouldn’t be a master, and Seiros- it might not even look like it should! But with someone guiding you, with a good reference, it’s a lot easier, and you’ll be better for it.”

Being reminded of his early practices involving many, many, still lifes, somehow does make Ignatz feel better. It’s one of the reasons he enjoys talking to Sylvain. He’s ridiculous, but it’s not in a bad way. Ignatz reflects on the few times he’s seen Sylvain interacting with women and amends that statement. Not in a bad way  _ most _ of the time. 

“Thanks, Sylvain. And I am glad I came to you about this. I knew I could trust you,” he adjusts his glasses, but it’s not out of nervous habit, only need. And when he smiles at Sylvain, it’s earnest and calm. He can do this.

“W- Ignatz, stop it,” Sylvain complains, but he’s odd- averting his eyes, hands dropped to his side, “I know you don’t mean it.” Is he- flustered? Ignatz can barely believe it. The only times he’s caught Sylvain in a similar state are when he catches him on the tail-end of a conversation with  _ Felix _ . He’s only been honest- maybe Sylvain hadn’t believed it?

“No, I mean- I do mean it. You might always act up, but I knew you wouldn’t let me fail.” Ignatz offers Sylvain a secret smile, mischievous, “Like scumbling: a little thin at first… But there’s depth to you. You’re reliable.” 

Sylvain blushes, but he’s laughing too. “Name-calling, from you, Ignatz? I suppose I might deserve it. But… thanks. I’m glad I can help you out.” He releases Ignatz’s shoulder, offering his hand once more. This time, Ignatz takes it with ease. 

Dance lessons continue with much more ease after that. Ignatz is much less tense when Sylvain directs him, when he pushes his feet into place or adjusts the way he stands. He’d worried about this whole thing much more than he’d needed too- it’s working out just fine.

It is not working out just fine when, while leaving the courtyard, Ignatz runs face-first into Felix. He steps back in an excellently executed two-step. Thanks, Sylvain. 

“Oh, Felix?” Ignatz blinks upwards at him, adjusting his glasses. Felix isn’t looking at him though- his gaze is towards the courtyard. Ignatz follows his line of sight to Sylvain’s retreating back. When he returns to face Felix though, the other’s gaze is locked on him. His expression reminds Ignatz of the statues in the cathedral. Cold, metallic, judgemental of some past transgression he cannot name nor fathom.    
  
Mostly, Ignatz is just a little intimidated. Felix is abrasive at his best and callous at his worst. He could paint that gaze, he thinks, and it would cut through him even then. What style would suit Felix best- some portraiture? 

“Ignatz.” Felix says, and Ignatz remembers that he’s being intimidated currently. “Were you with Sylvain?” Had he been watching him dance? Had he made some slight in Faerghus culture? A merchant should always be aware, he’d known that, and a Knight was respectful, but he was just a student- “Stop breathing like that. I’m not ridiculing you. It is your own choice to associate with that dandy.” 

“He’s not a dandy,” Ignatz protests, and the way Felix stiffens heightens the resemblance to the statues, “He was just teaching me how to dance. For the ball. I’m representing the Golden Deer, and I didn’t want to mess it up, and I couldn’t ask Hilda and- asking Lorenz would be an endeavor. I didn’t want to be awful. If I was doing something wrong, I apologize- ”    
  
“You’re not awful.” Felix says, and coming from him, it’s a little like praise. “You’re a beginner, right? The Fodlan traditional waltz is easy enough. And I suppose even Sylvain couldn’t mess it up.” 

“Ah, well,” Ignatz blinks, because that was far gentler than expected, “I’m glad then.” 

It feels like the end of a conversation. Felix does not move. Ignatz carefully steps back, but that only focuses Felix’s gaze in all of it’s intensity onto him. “Dancing lessons, you said?”

“Ah. Yes.” Ignatz has no idea what to say. Felix’s staring is almost as overwhelming as Sylvain’s hand on his waist. What was with the two of them?

“Hmmph.” Felix finally drops his gaze in something like dismissal.    
  
“So, I’ll just be going then-” Ignatz says, and this time, he gets away successfully. He watches Felix from the corner of his eye, catching the way he goes in the opposite direction- where Sylvain had headed. For dancing lessons, perhaps? From the way Felix had talked about the waltz, he’d sounded quite familiar. Maybe it was something else then. He has enough to worry about without thinking of Felix. 

\---

It’s a beautiful morning, Sylvian thinks. He’s teased a compliment out of Ignatz, taught him to dance (well, started too), and done all of this before he was even normally up. ‘Morning person’ tended to fit Felix much better than him. Speaking of Felix, who’s stormed up to him- wait. “Felix?”   
  
“Sylvain. You’ll teach me to dance.” 

“I will?” 

Felix’s scowl deepens, but it’s a little off- Sylvain’s adept at recognizing the little changes in expression that make up Felix’s mood. He’s always watching Felix, he knows. Sylvain can’t help it. 

He might be a little bit in love with his best friend, but it’s a fragile thing. Not Felix but- himself. Sylvain’s never been good at love. Romance, sure, that was easy, that was heated exchanges and honeyed words and making someone come apart- but Sylvain never had to put his heart to it. Romance was all in the head, he thought. It was control and lust and flirting. 

It wasn’t losing his breath when he caught Felix smiling, some amusement over Annette or some secret joy. It wasn’t that little ache that he felt whenever he saw Felix close to another. Sylvain’s not afraid of a lot of things, but he is afraid of this. 

Isn’t it easier and better to love from afar? When Sylvain knows how it would end, because things always end one way for him?    
  


He’s not good at a few things, but so far he thinks he’s been okay at being Felix’s friend. And he’s okay with that. He’s okay with doing what Felix needs. 

Still. Dancing? Shouldn’t Felix have learned- but Felix is starting at him, well, next to him, which is as good as eye contact for Felix, so Sylvain knows he wants an answer.

Because he’s only an okay-friend, Sylvain doesn’t answer straight. “What, no private lessons for Felix? Don’t worry. For you, I’ll offer my tutoring services. Just one little cost. I want you to ask. Maybe even throw in a please? I promise I won’t tell anyone.” That is a lie. Sylvain will tell. 

“Sylvain, please teach me to dance.”   
  
Sylvain’s shocked enough that he doesn’t even respond right away, so Felix continues, gaze slanting up at him, “If you cannot, I can find another tutor.” He’s awfully cute like that, Sylvain thinks, but he doesn’t want Felix thinking there’s someone else than him- alright, maybe he won’t tell anyone. Not the first time he’s lied to himself. 

“No, don’t you worry Felix- for you, I’m always available,” he assures, and then seals the comment with a wink. Like he wouldn’t be wherever Felix needed him.    
  
“If you’re going to be a pig about it, then don’t bother,” Felix scoffs, and Sylvain catches the way his hands clench. 

Sylvain doesn’t give Felix the chance to leave though, because he’s pulling Felix close, hand on his waist, much like he’d done to Ignatz only a little earlier. It’s different though, because touching Felix always ignites that fragile little fire within Sylvain. When he takes Felix’s other hand, pulling him along in a few steps, it roars into an inferno. 

Felix responds much more quickly than Ignatz, though Sylvain can feel the tension. The difference here, is that he knows Felix to his bones. He knows that Felix is quick and graceful, and he learns on his feet. Sylvain can lead him, and Felix will follow.

Felix is intense, and fierce, and Sylvain’s really curious as to why he hasn’t been insulted a little bit more. He keeps them moving, and he catches Felix’s gaze as they turn. 

Felix very promptly steps on his foot. Sylvain hisses in pain, and steps back. “What, are your feet daggers or something?”   
  
“Or something,” Felix agrees, “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me- not dragging me along after you. You should have expected this.” They continue to dance, and Sylvain steps closer, one-two, and Felix steps back, three.    
  
“Yes, I should have expected that you would attempt to crush my poor, poor little toes. What did they ever do to you?” Sylvain pouts, and he almost brushes against Felix as he leads him into a turn, Felix off by one measure.

“They’re attached to you, aren’t they? That’s crime enough.” Felix storms his steps, onetwothree, and they’re close again.   
  
“You speak so harshly of your dance instructor! Felix, is that how you speak to your professor?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Unfortunately, this is true. Sylvain lets it drop, but he catches the soft lines of Felix’s face. He’s amused, and Sylvain feels a little light-headed. He’s so- Sylvain’s good at hiding things that he cares about, at least. 

This time, Sylvian goes about instructing with a little more- instruction. But it’s hard not to be carried away with the intimacy of it. When he lets his hand rest on Felix’s shoulders a little to long, or he corrects the turn of his hips- the touches linger. 

Felix says nothing, but Sylvain thinks it’s because whenever Felix focuses, he notices nothing else. So he can get away with this little temptation. 

He’s only an okay sort of friend. 

Felix learns fast though- “Let me lead,” he demands, and Sylvain agrees easily enough. When Felix takes Sylvain through the steps, there is not a single missed beat. Sylvain knows all dances come to an end, even when theirs has no music, not besides the rhythm of their own breathing, but he doesn’t want that. He wants Felix’s hands on him for much longer. 

Many times, their eyes meet, and there is a glint to Felix’s gaze that he does not recognize. It is goading, anticipating. The look of a man waiting for his opponent to make a move. He’s seen it when Felix spars. He’s not quite sure what he’s done to deserve it- perhaps Sylvain had been enjoying this too much. 

Abruptly, Felix falters midstep, off-beat, and Sylvain can’t help but to move with him, into him. 

They collide, but Felix stops them from falling over. They’re also really close right now. 

“Sylvain,” Felix says, but he doesn’t push him off, so Sylvain doesn’t bother moving. He can count Felix’s lashes like this, close enough to share a breath. “You’re an idiot.” And then Felix kisses him. 

Huh, Sylvain thinks, and then he doesn’t think much more because Felix. Is kissing him. He has never wanted so badly before. 

Felix is- aggressive in this, as Sylvain had imagined him. It’s more of smashing than anything else, but goddess, Sylvain wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Besides, Sylvain is fond of teaching Felix. He can teach him this with pleasure. 

There’s a bumping of noses, and when they part, Felix is flushed- with pride or embarrassment or excitement, Sylvain can’t tell. But he doesn’t want to. He leans back in, hand cupping Felix’s chin as he tilts his head just so, and he kisses him again. 

Later, much later, at the night of the ball, Sylvain steps in turn with Felix, the music not so much guiding him as it is Felix. He wants to kiss him again, but he thinks of something else instead.

“Felix?”   
  
“Yes?”   
  
“You already knew how to dance, didn’t you.” 

“Shut up, Sylvain.”    
  
And if Sylvain just grins, and pulls Felix a little closer as he leads him into the next steps of the dance, well, that’s just between the two of them. 

  
  



End file.
